Dad

On Thursday evening, you looked at me, as I sat at your bedside. “There’s a lot wrong”, you said. Your tired eyes told me the full story; we both knew that it was bad. However, we still found the time for a quick joke. That was our way of doing things. No point pussy footing around, it will change nothing. That was just our way.

However, this morning is not about Thursday. This morning is a celebration of a husband, a father, a granddad, a brother and a son. It’s a celebration of a life that was lived right till the very end.

You had your ways, we knew them, and your friends knew them. We might give a ring, to see how you are. “I’m fine”, was the most usual response, followed by “I’ll let you talk to your mother”. A quick look at the telly guide, told us that Ice Road Truckers was on Discovery at that time. That would be a lot more interesting than the mundane issues we would talk about.

Your love of the outdoor life was well known. This love grew from the close relationship you enjoyed with your late father in law, Shino, or “The Boss Man” as you referred to him. The stories of your times together are legendary. We will never forget the evening, as you were out shooting together, when the boss man shot a duck. The duck fell into the river and the dog couldn’t find him. You spotted the duck and waded into the freezing water to retrieve him. You stepped too far forward and ended up in water to your neck. As you struggled to get out of the river, the boss man arrived on the river bank. Totally oblivious to your plight, “Did you get the effjing duck” he asked. There are lots more stories, most of them unsuitable to tell here this morning.

This love of the outdoors continued right through your life. You loved the Tidy Towns group, the gun club, the fishing club. They were all very important to you and gave you great pride and satisfaction. It also gave you a chance to meet great friends like Pat Power.

Your friendship with Pa blossomed during your time with Pinewood. We all knew when you were both finished work from the red glow of two cigarettes, as you both walked down the road.

Friday morning was Pension morning. Then, a drive to Clonmel with mam, where the Credit Union had to be paid, get the shopping in Dunne’s, a few bits in Aldi and a drop of oil from Sean Connolly.  It was all done on a Friday.

You took pride in having all your bills paid. “In the front door, out the back” was your attitude to The ESB Bill or the Phone Bill.

Sunday afternoon, you loved to stretch out and watch the hurling on telly. As children, we dreaded the Championship draw. If it was Tipperary V Waterford, somebody was going to be disappointed and the potential for a row increased. We would wait until the end of the match and give a ring. If it was a Tipperary win, “Is mammy thick?” was the question. As usual, “I’ll let you talk to your mother”. We always reassured her that it was a stupid game anyway. A Waterford win on the other hand, was a great opportunity to get a rise and do a small bit of gloating. In truth, none of us really cared either way, but you never “look a gift horse in the mouth”.

You had your own way of saying things. You had your own vocabulary, which made total sense to us, but would have been double Dutch to an outsider. We will remember those words, from now on, with a smile.

A few years ago, I had the satisfaction of writing a “This is your Life” book, looking back on your life. It became a labour of love. My chats with Maureen, Kathleen and Frances were so funny, as they recounted memories from the past. I sat for many an hour, in front of a computer screen, with a deep smile, as I attempted to put your exploits into words. On occasion, I had to phone you and try to squeeze extra nuggets of information. The night we presented you with the book, there was a palpable sense of relief on your face. “What’s up?” I asked. “You know all those recent phone calls, you made, asking me all those questions. I thought there was something seriously wrong, you know your mother handles all that stuff”, you said. As usual, yes, you’ve guessed it, “I’ll let you talk to your mother”. I’m glad we have that book today, an heirloom in the family, reminding us of you.

Dad, you loved your grand children and they were your life. The only thing that you could not understand was their fascination with technology or “gadgets”. “How can they stay looking at those bloody yokes”, you would ask. Snap chat and Instagram were a little alien to you. You will look after those children now though, you will watch over them. They love you in equal measure and you have had a massive impact in their young lives.

There is no doubt Dad, that there is a massive void in our lives today, a void that can never be filled. There are tough days ahead, as we attempt to get our heads around what has just happened. Mam will feel it the most, but rest assured, she will be ok. It’s now time to “circle the wagons” and watch over her. She is blessed with great friends and neighbours too, she will be ok. Make no mistake, she will be ok.

I’m going to finish with a reference to Rachel, Emma, Anna, Sarah, Kian, Colm and Holly.

As we grew up, Maney always asked us just one thing. Success or failure were measured the same way, they didn’t really matter. All that mattered was that you tried and you did your best. Most important however, was respect. You respected your family, but most importantly, you respected yourself and your good name. Maney always said that you might have a hole in the arse of your trousers, but if your name is good, you can go anywhere you wish, you can walk any street, with your head held high. As young children and as teenagers, you are living in very challenging and different times, facing worries and problems that Maney could never have expected or could have foreseen. There will be times in your lives when you will have to make big decisions, there will be times that you will be unsure, there will be times that you are scared. Don’t be afraid to ask Maney for help, because he’ll be there, every step of the way, guiding you. He is so proud of you all; as he watches you grow in your lives. Just remember that one word, respect, that’s all Maney would have asked for, nothing more, nothing less. Remember that, respect yourself and respect your good name.

On behalf of our family, can I express our heartfelt thanks to Dr David Janes, Local Nurse Annette Condon, The Ambulance Personnel, The Staff of St Josephs Hospital Clonmel and The Mercy Hospital in Cork.

The care they gave you dad was second to none. We will never forget their professionalism and kindness.

To our extended family, neighbours and friends, thank you so much. We will be forever in your debt.

Bye Dad, until we meet again.

My Giro Diary

With just 10 weeks to go, before the big event, the real training begins this week. I have a custom plan, which if I follow it, means that I should be at the peak of my fitness around the June Weekend. It’s based on a reasonable level of fitness at the beginning, so I think that I’m ticking the right boxes. Time will tell.

I’ve put in a pretty hard Winter training schedule, doing everything from regular climbs, to hard efforts, long distances on the road and even tried Mountain Biking. The latter, I’m afraid was not my favourite as I had way too many falls, got hurt too many times and it’s just too bloody hard. I’ve said this before and  I mean it. If you think you’re tough, fit and strong, maybe playing football, rugby or hurling, for example, try the Nire Valley Drop. Just the short course like I did, I dare you. You might get a very unpleasant surprise and realise that you’re not quite as tough as you thought. Anyway, I think my Mountain Bike future lies on the trails of Killarney National Park, or the Greenway in Dungarvan. (However, I must add that I’ll be back at the Nire Valley this year again, as I feel redemption is necessary. Proof positive, that cycling is an illness)

Anyway, with Winter training, all 6000km of it completed, the next stage is to build on that base, build up endurance and strength and get the body and even more so, the mind, in the correct frame before the event.

The Giro is a little different than any of my previous events. It’s longer, much higher and faster for example. I don’t know the roads, the terrain or the route, so it’s pretty much an unknown quantity. I’ve looked at YouTube videos of it, I’ve checked the route on Strava and I’ll put notes on my top tube, reminding me where the climbs are, how long they are, how steep they are and of course, the areas where I can relax and recover.

Once again, the plan is to go non-stop. I’ll “carb up” the day before, I’ll have a good breakfast that morning, but anything else, food wise, will be on the road with me, in my pocket. I’m aiming for 7 hours for completion, which is fairly ambitious. That means that I will need to average just over 25kph ,the entire route. In the last week, I’ve started doing just that in training spins. Getting my body used to a consistent effort, knowing when to back off a little bit, when to push a little bit, maintaining that elusive 25kph.

I have a few things that put me at a distinct disadvantage in an event like this. I’m getting older now, I have zero (and I mean this), sporting pedigree and I have zero natural ability. My lifestyle, as a musician, means lots of late nights, lugging around heavy equipment, lots of hours on your feet and a questionable diet of Taytos and Chocolate at 3am.

Anybody that grew up with me, will agree that of all the most useless people that stepped out onto The Mill Field in Ballymacarbery, to play hurling,  I was top of the list. I hated it with a passion, I had no interest and most definitely, no courage. When the “skelps” were flying, I was nowhere to be seen. I could say the same for most field sports at the time, I just didn’t like it, it wasn’t for me and in truth, I couldn’t be “arsed”. That remains to this day, as the country goes crazy once The Championship begins, I don’t really care. It could be on outside in the garden and I wouldn’t be bothered.

I did however, learn to play the guitar and I could always sing a song or three, so my teenage years were in front of the mirror in my bedroom, playing along to the Irish Showbands and in later years, really wanting to be Bruce Springsteen. I made a go of it however and getting out over 100 nights per year, I must be doing something right.

So, why in the name of god, would anybody take on an endurance sport like cycling, with all those handicaps.I often think back and wonder if I had discovered the sport as a teenager, could it have been different, who knows. All I do know is that I’m over half a century on this planet and I’m performing in events that I wouldn’t even consider when I was 21, proof that there must be a small bit of madness there.

However, I do it to prove to myself that anything is possible. At school, work, life in general, the biggest obstacle you will face, is yourself. The mind is so strong, it’s so capable, but it’s also so weak. On a personal level, I’m fighting many battles with it, battles that are not for social media, but they are considerable. Battles that I cannot afford to lose, that I must fight and fight I will. Cycling keeps that mind busy and under some sort of control.

In the last week, we have had the “March of many weathers”. Last Monday, the sun shone, the winds abated and it was ideal cycling weather. However, for me, it was a rest day and I had to force myself to stay at home. This is one of the hardest parts of the sport, forcing yourself not to do it. The body needs time to recover, more time at my age. On Tuesday, the weather remained good and I got a good long training spin, over The Glen of Aherlow. I managed the elusive 25kph and was pleased enough. Wednesday, was a recovery spin, which turned into a tough effort, completing 50km at almost 28kph. Then, Winter returned over St Patricks Day and my bike stayed in the garage. On Sunday, I went out, planning to complete my weeks target of 200km. Immediately, I felt stiff, lethargic, uninterested, tired and run down. I felt dejected, as the first 20km felt like 200. It’s a horrible feeling, but your body is just telling you that it’s not able for the effort. I persevered though and once I made the turn in Kilbehenny, the tail wind picked me up and I got back in, 65km at 25kph. Sometimes, you have to push yourself, find that weak spot that adversity has and exploit it.

So, 10 weeks to go. Today, is another rest day although I might attempt a recovery ride this evening. There’s also the training target of 10000km for the year to think about too. That’s a regular 200km every week for a year.

It’s a bloody illness.

 

Not too sure if it’s good to be Irish anymore.

I headed out this morning on a ride with a difference. I’ve put in a very tough week on the bike, with well over 250km done, 2700m climbed and over 12 hours in the saddle. Playing music 3 nights on the trot, meant that my bones were very weary this morning. One thing that I’ve noticed as I’m getting older, is how tired I feel, after gigs.

Playing music for a living is hard, very hard. From loading up heavy equipment, setting it all up on stage, a 2.5hr set (I don’t take breaks), pull the whole lot apart again, reload it again, drive home, unload it all, then, get ready to do it again the following night. Now, I’m not complaining. Having the ability to do this, gives me options in life that many people don’t have. I have the weekdays pretty much to myself and I get an opportunity to work when “I” want, not when somebody tells me to.

So, after a tough few nights and another one coming up tonight, I decided to forego the early spins this morning and headed out on my own at 11.30am. A recovery ride is just that, recovery. Spin an easy gear, stay on a flat road, watch the heart rate, just take it easy. It’s all about draining the lactic from the muscles, letting the body recover after a tough battering all week. The old Cork road is ideal for this and so, my spin today was to Kilbehenny and back.

Cycling is a very solitary sport. You get very used to your own company and there’s nothing quite like a good argument with yourself, about whatever is on your mind. So, alone with my thoughts, I headed out this morning. There was a stiff wind blowing in off the Galtee Mountains and I could see a rain shower a few miles away, coming across towards the Knockmealdowns. I was keeping a steady eye on my computer, watching my heart rate and my speed, to stay within easy limits. A vapour trail followed one rider, in full flow, as he headed in against me, on his way home, taking advantage of the tail wind.. I met another man, a bit like me, watching the numbers on the small screen in front of him. Another gentleman was cycling towards Cahir, not bothering with numbers or performance, probably calling to a friend or maybe a pint or two after mass.

As I approached Jim Carey’s garage, my solitude and thoughts were interrupted. Shouting and screaming, shattered the peaceful Sunday morning. There was a van approaching me, inside it, on the hard shoulder, there was a “sulkie”. The poor pony was being driven at full speed. The guy in the sulkie, was absolutely hammering the pony. I screamed at him to stop hitting the pony but I got the expected derision and abuse. Totally oblivious to the distress being caused to the pony, they carried on. I was disgusted. There’s no law against this, they have their “rights” and they don’t waste any time reminding the rest of us about it either.

Recently, people have started to remark on the amounts of illegal dumping in countryside areas. I actually took notice of it this morning and it’s worse than I had ever imagined. It seems that every bit of woodland, gateway or rest area has become a dumping ground. The Cork Road has to be seen to be believed. How, in the name of god, can people look themselves in the mirror every morning, knowing that they are responsible for this.

The last few weeks have been pretty poor for Ireland. We have a Police force  in meltdown. In total disarray, totally discredited, untrusted by the public and with morale at an all time low. The recent discoveries in Tuam are the stuff from a horror movie. Did anybody notice that a Dáil debate on the issue had to be delayed, as they couldn’t get enough politicians to turn up. We pay them 85 grand per year, plus expenses and they couldn’t bother their arses debating an issue as horrendous as this. People who have stood up to be counted in this country have been smeared, jeered, labelled and in the case of Maurice McCabe, lots worse. People that stood up and protested against water meters for example, were labelled as terrorists, compared to ISIS and most of them ended up in the back of a squad car or Paddy wagon as a thank you for their efforts. There’s a joke in the countryside that if you want to see the Gardaí around, organise a water protest and you’ll have a dozen of them there in jig time. God help you if you lose your job in Ireland, you’re now a “sponger”. As for a young single girl who has a baby, she should be ashamed of herself. I’ve even read pieces where it’s been suggested that girls do it for the money. Pure awful stuff, that has no place in any civilised society.

As I turned in Kilbehenny this morning, that poor pony was uppermost in my mind. On the 20km return journey, I had lots of time to think and they weren’t happy thoughts.

As I approached Tincurry though, I met a man with two beautiful horses and the most wonderful carraige coming against me. The horses were a picture of health, walking along, enjoying themselves. A big cheery wave and they went about their business.

This week, sports people have, as usual, been the difference in this country. As cycling fans, we have rejoiced in Sam Bennett’s stage victory at Paris Nice. Dan Martin has a huge chance at overall victory in the same race, while Nico and Philip Duignan, represent themselves, their teams and their country with distinction. Elsewhere, Irish men and Women represent themselves with distinction and pride, everywhere from Rugby to GAA.

I’m not too sure how proud I am to be Irish anymore. But, in the meantime, thank god for our sports people.