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.
The Unknown Bike Rider 